


Hitting the ice

by JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23027107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle/pseuds/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle
Summary: Based on Check Please!episode 04.21. You should definitely read the comic first!
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 25
Kudos: 166





	Hitting the ice

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Check Please! [episode 04.21](https://www.checkpleasecomic.com/comic/4-21-01). You should definitely read the comic first!

As soon as the puck dropped, Bitty headed for the corner, knowing Whiskey would do his best to get it there. If he could find Bully in the slot …

Yes. The puck was on its way and Bully was nearly there. Bitty was about to pull the trigger on his pass when a brown wall swept into his peripheral vision.

Eighty-two. Cole, the asshole who’d been after him all game. Bitty held his ground, tried to shove the puck toward Bully, saw Cole lower his shoulder and drive it towards Bitty.

With the size difference, even with his shoulder lowered, Cole crashed into the side of Bitty’s head, his body crushing Bitty’s shoulder and arm towards his ribs. Bitty’s skates gave way and he knew he was going down, probably with 210 pounds of defenseman on top of him.

The rink upended, Bitty looked at the lights and wondered for a moment what had just happened.

* * *

Dang, that guy was big. Rick thought they grew football players big in Georgia, but they didn’t have much on the hockey players in New England.

Of course Coach knew that; he’d met Bitty's team and seen them play. But that game was nothing like this. These guys were bigger and they were faster. Samwell was holding its own -- so far -- but 82 wouldn’t leave Junior alone. Like a linebacker going after a quarterback to disrupt the other team’s game.

The thought gave Rick a burst of pride, for all Suzanne was probably worried. After Junior’s brief foray into football, Rick had figured the boy just wasn’t cut out for contact sports. He _was_ smaller than his classmates, of course, and getting tackled hurt. Which wasn’t really a bad thing; that gave the boys a reason to avoid it.

But Junior had preferred dancing and leaping and spinning on ice. When he did take to hockey, it was in a league where hitting wasn’t allowed. Now look at him, taking everything that was thrown at him and getting up for more.

Rick smiled broadly when Junior pushed himself off the ice and chased the play the second time 82 pasted him into the boards. It wasn’t the size of the dog in the fight, it was the size of the fight in the dog, and his boy had fight to spare.

There was another face-off, and Whisk stole the puck for Samwell right off the drop and flung it toward Junior, who was looking to pass into the middle.

Shit, there was 82 again, bird-dogging Junior, who was looking at his teammate.

The _crunch_ when 82 crashed into Junior was louder than the crowd, the bang of Junior’s body into the boards, the whoosh of breath in the whole arena when he fell … Rick had seen hard hits in his career, Hell, he’d dealt some and received some. But that … football players couldn’t get the speed of hockey players on skates, and 82 had been booking … and Junior already had a significant concussion in his past ….

* * *

Suzanne had made up her mind in the first ten minutes of the game -- no, the first five minutes -- that she did not care for Cole. If the object of the game was to put the puck in the net, why didn’t he do that, instead of following Dicky around and trying to knock him down?

When all Dicky was doing was his job, trying to get the puck to the other team’s end, get it to the best shooters or shoot himself. Why should they punish her baby boy for being good at this game?

It was strangely beautiful to watch, the way the the players skated so fast, turned so quickly, adjusted on the fly and yet somehow always knew where their teammates would be. She could see why Dicky loved being part of that. He always did want to belong to something.

And here he was, wearing a C on his chest and leading boys twice his size. She knew Rick was fit to burst his buttons, and she was too. She had worried about DIcky growing up, about whether he’d find his people (and whether she’d be able to get along with them if he did). Here he was at the center of a group so much like Rick’s old football team it was almost funny. And him with Jack, too, who reminded of her Rick with his quiet presence. 

Funny how things worked out.

The game was tight, and Suzanne could see the determination on Dicky’s face as he raced to catch the pass off the face off. She could see the moment he realized Cole was bearing down on him, and the moment he was crunched into the boards and crumpled to the ice.

She missed Cole skating away to rejoin the play, the rest of the skaters chasing the puck. Her eyes were only for the small figure in red and while lying on the ice.

“Dicky,” she whispered.

* * *

Jack had been pretty proud of himself, keeping it a secret that he was coming to the championship game. The Falcs had a game in Denver the following night, and the rest of the team was there already. He’d gotten special permission to delay his arrival in Denver until the morning once the Wellies made the championship.

He’d only been able to see Bitty for a moment before the game, but he was pretty sure they’d be together for most of the night after, whatever happened.

Jack was prepared for either eventuality: curling up and holding Bitty while he mourned the loss of what might have been, similar to how Bitty had embraced him after the Wellies’ loss his senior year, or partying all night with the team after lifting the trophy. 

Bitty had been there for him in both those situations, and Jack was looking forward to returning the favor. Especially if it was celebrating the championship that had eluded Samwell when Jack was there.

They just had to get through this game first. Bits was amazing, the way he was shaking off checks and getting up when he was knocked down. He’d come so,so far since he was a frog. George had even asked Jack to feel him out on his thoughts about turning pro. Bitty had scoffed and said, “Can you imagine? Y’all play on a totally different level than me, and I’d get knocked around every single game.”

This game seemed just as rough. Brown was clearly trying to get Samwell off their game plan by neutralizing Bitty; Whisk might be their best player in terms of size and skill, but Bitty was the heart of the team, and the fulcrum on which most of their plays turned.

Jack couldn’t fault the strategy, but his heart skipped a beat every time 82 barreled into Bitty. Bitty might have had a mental block about handling contact when he started at Samwell, but that didn’t mean hockey hits weren’t dangerous. Especially for someone like Bitty, who was so much smaller than some of the other players, and especially at the speed 82 was laying them on.

Jack had seen what could happen to Bitty when he took a vicious hit once, and as proud as he was, as much as he loved the game and loved that Bits loved it too, he never wanted to see that again.

The puck dropped and it looked like Brown had it until Whisk managed to poke-check it away, send it to the corner where Bitty would set up, and … shit.

“Bitty,” Jack breathed.

* * *

Bitty had to think for a moment to remember where he was. The ice under him was cold, the lights above were bright. There was noise from the crowd. All his limbs seemed to be intact, and his helmet was still on his head.

Sweet Jesus, this was it. This was the championship game, and here he was lying on the ice.

He had to get up.


End file.
